n my hand, which, no doubt, will
be the cause of that poor boy's death"--

"Allow me to finish, doctor," said the man of law. And then, more
rapidly, he went on,--

"Here follows a blank. How the accused lived in Paris, to which he
had returned after his release, is not known. Did he resort to mean
cheating, or to improper enterprises, in order to satisfy his passions?
The prosecution is reduced to conjectures, since Crochard has refused to
give details, and only makes very general statements as to these years.

"This fact only is established, that every thing he took with him when
he left Paris was new,--his tools, the linen in his valise, the clothes
he wore, from the cap on his head to his shoes. Why were they all new?"

As the magistrate had now reached the last line on the first sheet, the
surgeon rose, bowed low, and said,--

"Upon my word, sir, I surrender; and I do begin to hope that Lieut.
Champcey may still be avenged."

A smile of pleased pride appeared for a moment on the lips of the
lawyer; but assuming his mask of impassiveness instantly again, as if he
had been ashamed of his weakness, he said with delicate irony,--

"I really think human justice may this time reach the guilty. But wait
before you congratulate me."

The old surgeon was too candid to make even an attempt at concealing his
astonishment.

"What!" he said, "you have more evidence still?"

The magistrate gravely shook his head, and said,--

"The biography which I have just read establishes nothing. We do not
succeed by probabilities and presumptions; however strong they are in
convincing a jury. They want and require proof, positive proof, before
they condemn. Well, such proof I have."

"Oh!"

From the same box from which he had taken the papers concerning Crochard
he now drew a letter, which he shook in the air with a threatening
gesture. "Here is something," he said, "which was sent to the state
attorney twelve days after the last attempt had been made on M.
Champcey's life. Listen!" And he read thus,--

"Sir,--A sailor, who has come over to Boen-Hoa, where I live with my
wife, has told us that a certain Crochard, surnamed Bagnolet, has shot,
and perhaps mortally wounded, Lieut. Champcey of the ship 'Conquest.'

"In connection with this misfortune, my wife thinks, and I also consider
it a matter of conscience, that we should make known to you a very
serious matter.

"One day I happened to be on a yardarm, side by side w